


We contain multitudes

by RememberAurora



Series: We contain multitudes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 00:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RememberAurora/pseuds/RememberAurora
Summary: He lands in the forest, a couple hundred feet away from the clearing where Bruce is throwing switches on his control board as Sam hovers anxiously nearby. Steve barely registers their presence. His eyes find the man standing next to them, gaze fixed firmly on the ground, jaw frozen in a scowl that Steve knows means he is trying not to cry. He looks shattered, and Steve's heart shatters at the sight.I swear to you, I will make this right. Hang in there just a little longer, pal, and I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.A post-canon Endgame fix-it that picks up right after the final scene. Pre-slash.





	We contain multitudes

**Author's Note:**

> Like many of you, I was heartbroken over Endgame's ending. The only things that salvaged it for me, kind of, were that Steve lived, and that we know that the Avengers' time machine allows time to pass through people, too. I tried to build on that here. 
> 
> I'm thinking of turning this into a series of one-shots, with a few scenes from Steve's past and his future. Would love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!

He rests his forehead against the window as his eyes roam over the cornucopia of Brooklyn rooftops. He glances downward, takes in the gaggle of young girls trying to figure out double dutch, the teen typing rapidly on his phone, the couple next door ambling toward Prospect Park. 

He remembers coming here in 2012, in another life, another reality. Remembers how dark the streets looked then, despite the sunshine pouring in. How he had known that nothing would ever be the same again. 

Is he ready to go back there? To do this all again, to cheat time once more? His shoulders curl in on themselves at the thought. He has lived more than 120 years to date, and he is tired. The thought of starting over is... overwhelming. But then a face appears before his eyes, beloved and true, and the longing he has felt each day for the past 80 years spreads through his veins, more powerful than Erksine's serum. His fingers brush over the ziploc packet of photographs by his breast pocket -- the only thing beside his shield that he will take with him -- before making their way to the bracelet circling his wrist. 

***  
The days after the Final Battle had been a blur of pain. As Pepper hugged Morgan close, as Clint stared over the lake, his eyes hollow, as Natasha's "See you in a minute..." echoed in his mind, the guilt had enveloped him in a vice-grip so tight he could barely draw breath. He should have gone to Vormir in her place, should have insisted he wear the makeshift gauntlet instead of Tony, should have finished Thanos earlier, should have... Natasha's absence was an open wound, lancing through him with every step; Tony's -- a boulder on his shoulders that grew heavier by the minute. 

Bucky was back, and Wanda, and Sam, but Steve could barely stand to be near them, to bring the pain and chaos that inevitably followed him to their feet. Death and destruction and loss -- that is what came to those who stood by him, and none of them, not one, deserved that burden. 

When Bruce brought up taking back the stones, Steve volunteered without a second thought, needing desperately to get away, anywhere, away. Returning to Peggy didn't occur to him till later, till Vormir brought him face to face with his oldest enemy and the permanence of Natasha's loss. Months later, as he bandaged his best friend's wounds in the little cottage that would be his first home in this new life, he remembered Bucky's last words before he'd stepped on that platform, and the realization that Buck had known what he was going to do before he did broke him and healed him at once. At the time though? At the time he'd barely been able to process Bucky’s “I’ll miss you,” falling on memory to ease his way. "It'll be okay, Buck," he had said. You'll be okay, you'll be better off, without me. 

By the time he made it back to 1970, a plan had started to coalesce in his addled mind. He would return to 1947, safely after the end of the war. He would beg Peggy to take him back, and if she did, would live his life quietly in her shadow, would erase himself in her wake and keep from causing further damage in his own timeline. 

It was... a terrible plan. One that would have failed miserably, with consequences he'll shudder over time and again in the next 80 years.

He'd been about to make that last jump when he felt a presence behind him and a soft voice froze him in place. 

"Steven Grant Rogers," the Ancient One had said. "I know what you plan to do. And I cannot allow it." 

Steve felt the last of his defenses crumble, eyes filling rapidly with tears he had no hope of holding back. "Please," he'd whispered. "I... Please." 

This time, the Ancient One's voice had been kind. "To exist the way you envision will require one to stand by and let life happen all around them -- the good and the terrible. To do anything but that in a timeline where you already exist could have consequences even I cannot foresee. I... cannot trust you not to meddle, Captain." Steve had drawn a sharp breath, ready to protest, but found himself unable to speak. "Your heart is heavy with loss now, and you crave oblivion. But that will not last." She'd paused, pensive, as Steve stared at his feet, grief choking him all over again. "I have a solution, I think. There is a timeline where you will be able to live your life -- live it, not hide in it." She waved her arm and a portal opened beside her. Through it, he could see sunshine, and a small yellow bungalow surrounded by red rosebushes. He took a step toward it instinctively, but stopped short. 

"What... Where are you sending me?" 

"To a timeline that someone interfered with long ago." She paused. "In it, the Valkyrie does not land in the ice. It explodes on impact." 

Steve felt numb. "I am dead then." 

"Yes. Killed in action in 1945." The Ancient One paused. "Your actions here will change this timeline's future, but they will not affect the multiverse."

"My," he had almost said 'family.' "My team, they'll be safe?"

"Yes." 

Steve had stepped through the portal. When he had turned to say goodbye, blue-gray eyes found his. "Go forth, Steven. And..." She'd paused, as if debating whether to finish her thought. "Hold onto those extra particles. Both of them." 

The Ancient One had vanished before he could respond.

***  
The first two months of his new life had been hell. There had been a brief burst of happiness at reuniting with Peggy, at being in her arms again. But stepping through the portal had not erased his memories, nor had it eased his guilt. For weeks, he traipsed through the tiny cottage, comatose -- made worse still when he realized the bracelet on his wrist had gone utterly, hopelessly silent and there was no way back. 

Battle fatigue, Peggy had called it, giving him space and a shoulder to cry on. Survivor's guilt. And then, in passing, she had said Bucky's name, and Steve's world had snapped back into focus. 

***  
There are five photographs in his ziploc bag. In one, Howard and the Howlies crowd around Bucky, Peggy and himself, trying to squeeze into their too-small living room. Bucky is missing his left arm, and there's a big gash on his cheek that hasn't quite healed yet, and he's thin, far too thin, but he's alive, and he's safe, and he's home. 

In another, Steve and Bucky sit on that same couch, in a different living room this time, grinning at the women in their laps - Peggy on Steve's, and a soft spoken, stunning nurse named Alina who Bucky had married in 1951, on his. 

There's a family portrait -- the Rogers and Barnes clans during one of the last reunions they had held before Peggy's memory deteriorated too much to attend. And there's a snapshot of Steve and Bucky, Steve perched on the side of Buck's bed -- the last one they took before Bucky passed away in his sleep two years ago. 

The last photo arrived in his inbox just days before. It's from Morgan's birthday party, and she's sitting on Tony's lap, staring reverently at the Bucky Bear Steve had sent her. Pepper is next to Tony, grinning at the expression on her daughter's face, while Rhodey lays sprawled on the floor, watching the proceedings. In the corner of the shot, almost out of sight, stands Natasha, Sam's arms wrapped gently around her from behind. 

***  
He lands in the forest, a couple hundred feet away from the clearing where Bruce is throwing switches on his control board as Sam hovers anxiously nearby. Steve barely registers their presence. His eyes find the man standing next to them, gaze fixed firmly on the ground, jaw frozen in a scowl that Steve knows means he is trying not to cry. He looks shattered, and Steve's heart shatters at the sight. _I swear to you, I will make this right. Hang in there just a little longer, pal, and I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you._

Steve makes his way to the bench by the lake and waits, knowing Bucky will sense his presence before long. Sure enough, moments later he hears that beloved voice. "Sam..." And then again, "Go ahead." 

Leaves crunch beneath feet, and then Sam is there. Steve mentally apologizes to him, too, for deceiving him, however briefly. When Sam retreats, he is staring in wonder at the shield that in Steve's other timeline, he has already been carrying for nearly a decade. Steve knows he'll be fine. 

The minute before Bucky approaches him feels like a lifetime. Steve's heart beats wildly, a sparrow trapped in a steel cage. His fingers find the last red vial, clasping it firmly in his right hand. 

Then, there's that voice again, and Steve's eyes flood with tears. "Hey punk."

"Hey jerk," his voice wobbles on the endearment as he drinks in the man before him. God, I have missed you. 

Bucky stares at him, cataloging his features, and Steve shrinks a bit under his gaze. Bucky's face is carefully blank -- not a hint of pain Steve had spotted earlier, nor of anger. His eyes are not exactly cold; they carry no emotion at all. Only his hands, balled into the tightest of fists in his jacket pockets, give away the effort it's taking to maintain this facade. 

"Can we..." Steve clears his throat, swallows. "Can we talk?" 

"Sure. Let's talk." He makes no move to sit down. 

Steve rises. They shouldn't do this here anyway. "Let's go for a walk."

He starts toward the path winding its way around the lake, hoping Buck will follow. He does. They walk in silence past the spot where Steve had landed, till the forest canopy is thick enough to provide some semblance of privacy. When Steve stops, Bucky ambles reluctantly to his side. 

Steve has rehearsed this speech hundreds of times in the last year. He'd memorized it and changed it and memorized it again. But standing here, finally, with the man he has missed for 80 goddamn years and that he'll keep missing forever if he isn't careful now, he is unable to find words. 

Bucky is, as usual, braver. "You went back to her." 

"Yes. I... Sort of." 

"Sort of?" The anger is starting to seep through, and Steve is relieved to hear it. "You look like you aged a few decades, pal."

"It's... complicated. I did go back, but in another timeline. I..." How do you explain this? "I couldn't change our past, so I created a new one."

Bucky scoffs softly. "Our? You mean your?"

Steve shakes his head, reaching for the bundle of photos. His hand shakes as he extends it to Bucky. For a moment, he's afraid Buck won't take them, will turn and walk away from him, like Steve deserves. When vibranium fingers accept the ziploc bag, he is unfathomably grateful. 

Bucky flips through the photos, and the emotionless mask slowly melts away. When he looks up, his expression mirrors the one he'd worn when they said goodbye - sad and wistful, and painfully resigned. 

"Thank you," he says softly, "for giving that me a life. You'll," he swallows, but the tears come anyway, brimming on his too-long lashes. "You'll have to tell me about it some time." 

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, Buck," Steve promises softly, stepping closer to him. Bucky shakes his head, holding his palm out to stop him. 

"It's still your past though, Stevie." A tear escapes, and it takes all Steve's strength to stay put. "You lived a life, pal. And I'm happy for you, I really am. You deserve it..." 

"Buck," Steve takes another step forward, and freezes as Bucky takes two back and turns away. His next words are barely audible, even to supersoldier ears.

"All my life, all my years as myself, anyway, I've lived with the fear that I'd have to bury you. And I know that this right here is some best-case scenario I could never've imagined, but..." 

Steve's fingers clench around the last red vial. He'd had a whole plan for this -- things he wanted to tell Bucky first, things he had hoped to hear. All that goes out the window as he watches the dark-haired man's shoulders curl in on themselves while he struggles to maintain his composure. Quickly, without thinking, he slips the vial in its compartment, flips the switch on the device's side and presses the go-button. 

The sensation that follows is unlike anything he has experienced before. He had braced for pain, but there is none. Instead, it feels like a post earth-quake wave transcends his entire body, vibrating through every bone, muscle, organ. He stumbles beneath it, and when he catches himself on a nearby tree trunk, the wrinkles and age spots on his fingers are gone. He takes a deep breath, feeling his chest strain against a shirt that's too small for his 38 year-old body, and brushes his fingers over his face, wanting to be sure, absolutely sure, before he speaks. What he finds is smooth skin, marred only by worry lines near his mouth and on his forehead. His heart is racing, but the beat is sure and strong, with none of the flutters that had cropped up these last few years. 

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, muttering a prayer to a God he's not sure he believes in. One more inhale, then... "What if I told you you wouldn't have to?" 

Bucky whips around at the sound of his voice. His eyes widen as his mouth falls open with surprise. "What...?" For a moment, he stands there, frozen. Then he takes a step, then another, and he's there, his hands flying over Steve's face, his arms, back, chest, before settling on his shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise. He inhales, then shakes his head, unable to form words. His eyes, though -- those blue-grey, still-too-sad eyes Steve has longed for all this time -- speak for him. _How?_ they ask. _What did you do now, you idiot? _ Steve leans in a bit, resting his forehead against Bucky's, and answers. 

"When Bruce was first trying to make time travel work," he says softly, "he could only figure out how to pass time through someone -- not pass them through time. Tony..." Steve's breath hitches. It shouldn't hurt so much to say his name, but it does. "Tony eventually figured out how to do it right, and he built these things," he lifts the GPS device for Bucky to see, but Buck's eyes are fixed on his. "To do both." 

Bucky shuts his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you knew this how?" 

Steve squirms a little, unsure how to respond. "Umm... You told me, actually."

Bucky pulls back. "I... what?"

Steve rests his hand on the back of Buck's neck. "The... other you. When I told him the truth, that I'd come from another time, and that I hoped to go back one day. He figured it out." Bucky stares at him like he's suddenly sprouted an extra head. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and Steve can see him filing the questions away for another time. 

"Did it hurt?" He asks instead, his thumb tracing Steve's cheekbone unconsciously. Steve swallows hard, remembering the dim hallways in Azzanno, and Bucky barely able to stand on his own two feet. 

"No. Not at all."

"Is it... Is it permanent?" The tears come unbidden now, rolling down Steve's cheeks and falling to the leaves at their feet. 

"Yea, Buck. If you want it to be." 

Bucky pulls back, incredulous. "Whaddaya mean if I want it to be?"

Steve swipes at his eyes; tries, unsuccessfully to stem the flow. "I know that I hurt you. Real bad. And if you want to move on, if you don't want me around... I'll go. I'll understand." 

Bucky's expression softens. He takes a step, just one, that puts him right in Steve's space again. Vibranium fingers grasp the front of his shirt, pinning him in place. "The last few days, since you told us you'd be taking the stones back... They've been some of the worst of my life," he whispers, and Steve can't help the soft, hurt noise that escapes him. "And yea, Stevie, I'm pissed." He sighs. Steve inhales sharply, bracing for the rejection. "But if you think..." Bucky's swallows as his own eyes fill again. "If you think I am letting you out of my sight again, punk -- well, you got another thing coming." 

A torrent of relief rushes through Steve. He collapses onto Bucky, clinging to the familiar form as his vision blurs out with tears. He inhales shakily, and his lungs fill with Bucky’s scent -- with smoke and pine and a hint of gunpowder, not pomade and clean cotton and cologne. Eighty years of longing, of missing this man like a severed limb. Eighty years of hoping, and losing hope, and hoping again. Elderly blue-gray eyes flash before him, and the wrinkled hand that has gripped his. _“Promise me you’ll go back to him. Promise me you’ll try.” _

This Bucky -- young, and strong, and real, somehow, despite all odds, real -- stumbles beneath Steve’s weight with a soft ‘oof’ before wrapping his arms around him and lowering them both gently to the forest floor. “Hey,” he rasps softly against Steve’s ear as warm fingers clutch the back of his neck. “Shh… You’re okay. You’re okay, Stevie.”

“I am sorry,” Steve whispers into the warm neck, clutching him close. “I am so sorry, Buck… Soon as I did it, I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t work, and…” Bucky draws a shaky breath, but doesn’t speak. “I missed you every day, every fucking day…” 

Bucky pulls back a bit and the hurt in those eyes feels like a punch in Steve’s gut. “Seems like you had a pretty good replacement there, pal.” 

Steve shakes his head no, adamant. “Wasn’t you.” 

A tear rolls down Bucky’s cheek. “I was right here. After five years, I was right here, and you…”

Steve nods. “I know. I know, Buck. I… there’s no excuse for what I did. And I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Anger wrestles with sorrow on Bucky’s face. “No, none of that. We ain’t gonna do that, Stevie.” His gaze softens. “I hate that you left… But you came back, somehow, and I don’t wanna waste that.” He tugs gently on Steve’s neck, till their foreheads touch again. “You gotta promise me something though, punk.”  
“Anything.”

“Never again, yea? Whatever it was that drove you away -- and I know it was some crazy-ass guilt, some fucked-up self-blame bullshit you always pull -- next time that happens, you fuckin’ talk to me, you hear me? You don’t fuckin’ run away like that.” 

It’s the easiest promise Steve’s ever made. “I swear, Bucky, never again,” he finds those blue-gray eyes, holds them. “Not for anything.” _I love you,_ he wants to say. _I’ve loved you for nearly two centuries now._ It’s not the right time though -- not now, when the trust between the them is the weakest it’s ever been. “Took me 80 years, but I finally learned to use my words.” 

Bucky chuckles wetly. “I’ll believe it when I see it, punk.” 

A tear rolls down Steve’s cheek, falling with a soft rustle to the forest floor. “Jerk.” 

The corner of Bucky’s mouth nudges up in a smile. “C’me on Stevie, let’s go home.”


End file.
